


Mondays

by ponybologna



Category: Transformers, Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: An Average day, Banter, Domestic, Patrol, Scorponok chases camels, decepticon domesticity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 18:51:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2161293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponybologna/pseuds/ponybologna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blackout likes Kesha, playing with meat bags, and camels. Barricade likes nothing. [OLD WORK]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mondays

"I’m going to knock down every radio tower in the world, you trashy motherfuck."

Blackout listened to Barricade’s complaining with one ear, and Kesha’s “Cannibal” with the other. A sand dune disappeared beneath him, eaten up by his hungry helicopter blades, followed by another, and another as he flew over the sun-baked desert.

Today was a good day. The sky was nice and blue, it was dry and warm, and he’d watched Scorponok chase a herd of camels about an hour before. He wasn’t looking forward to picking bits of camel guts and fur out of his partner’s claws, but sometimes, you made sacrifices.

“Turn that off. Right. Now.”

“Why would I, when you’re obviously enjoying it so much? I never pegged you for a Kesha guy, ‘Cade.” Blackout smiled to himself as he listened to Barricade growl his frustration over the radio. He wasn’t good with radios— that was Soundwave’s job. All Blackout did was crash communications networks and make lights explode, but he knew enough to make Barricade’s joint patrols with him a living hell, and that was enough for him. He was a simple mech with simple tastes; a good romp in squishy organic creatures to bad music now and again, punctuated with naps and the occasional fuck, and he was good to go.

Not so for Barricade. Dumbass was patrolling New York and had driven over a solid yard of broken glass, gone and popped his tire, so now he was squatting at a Jiffy Lube with little meat baggies scrambling around him and leaving greasy little fingerprints as they repaired him. This was why you chose a flying alt mode, Blackout had explained. This was why you took the most remote patrol locations you could. What few humans there were made for excellent sport, seeing how they were isolated from the rest of their kind.

It’d been years since Megatron’s death. Starscream did a bang-up job as second in command as usual and went and abandoned earth before their leader’s corpse was cold. So they patrolled like this. For what? They didn’t know. But it staved off boredom, and made them feel useful. And if anyone came by, they figured, they could say they had been doing productive things, rather than lying around sucking themselves off or whatever it was Starscream was doing these days. Blackout liked to picture Shockwave, or maybe Blackarachnia coming down here, maybe giving them a pat on the back for their good work. Or a raise.

“So I’ve been thinking,” Blackout said.

“That’s never good,” Barricade grunted.

“I want a cat.”

“Oh, kill me now.”


End file.
